Eyes
by All In Red
Summary: He didn't know what to do anymore, now that Death City, and possibly the whole world, was now an apocalyptic society. Her warm green eyes were the only things that could tame his restless soul. AU.


**Um.. Haven't written in a while.. I will try my best to make sure this story comes out complete. Reviews are greatly appreciated.**

**- I do not own Soul Eater! -**

* * *

i**. mask**

* * *

He wore this mask as recompense after Kid had lost control.

Everyone did. It was his demeanor. His outer appeal. He could see a bit of his face, ad his surroundings, but only through a small looking-glass. Hideous, dull and out of all obvious traits, _symmetrical_.

The masks weren't the only things that pierced what was left of him. His neck bore a lead choker with the official shinigami symbol, it's purpose fatal, merciless to anyone who dares to remove the mask without permission. He's seen it before; the poor young man whose mask fell off, his head following. The little girl whose one flew away in the wind, her collar giving her a literal, intensifying shock.

Heads just went off consistently; more deaths than the amount of ways to even kill and sever within the choker's functions. At best, the only times where masks could be removed were for bathing and cleaning, (don't exclude tight surveillance, for he wasn't afraid to be perverse if it was for the line of duty); wearing them in the house otherwise was considered crucial for Kid. Possibilities were hidden under roofs, and that was one risk he couldn't let go unattended.

Other than those mandatory accessories, his clothes were definitely out of the question. Black cloaks adorned the denizens, making them somewhat similar to their leader, following like a fledgling. He disliked how the color black could absorb heat, the desert heat boring down enough to cook him. It seemed too monotonous, in his taste. It lacked 'cool'. It lacked his normal black leather jacket with his jeans, and those head bands he seemed to adore.

It all came in a blur; Kid had subdue to the flow of madness, churning the world into his own toy box, that of which human suffering was all in the prospect of perfection. He killed off his precious weapons, each of them speared by a black needle. Like Asura, he swallowed his own weapons, their embodiment and their souls. Following his act, the world began to deteriorate into his ideals. He snatched their freedom. He cremated his memories. Destroyed whom he loved for what he desired. He now ruled as a king, only to live in a secluded glass castle.

Easily said, Death City was under maximum security. The laws to abide by were simple, and at the same time, confusing. What Kid instructed, they followed without delay, yet chaos was always abrupt, no matter what laws Kid produced.

That meant the rebels that worked underneath the main propaganda, in which the groups only seemed to deteriorate due to the living conditions on the other side of the city.

So here he was, the man in the middle, staring down his outer prestige, his hair the same jagged style. He wore his jeans and tee, making sure to cap the camera he discovered by the window. Considering that it was obvious that the team of eight monitoring the security footage could not keep watch of every single person each day, it wasn't too hard to sneak his way out of wearing the cloak. Sure, they could change out of the cloak, yet it seemed to be that opinions were stated with fierce eloquence, and that the cloaks were soon to be passed as a mandatory accessory towards the protocol. Splashing water on some of the revealing skin of his face, he began to relax in the loose clothing, taking in the feel of the fabric before he had to revert to the cloak, and sometime, for good. Collars had no jurisdiction to kill when it meant simple mandatory hygiene. Kid was far beyond agreement, for that was placed first in his book.

Even if wearing these clothes were meant for a small amount of time, it was beneficial. It was another balmy Sunday, the weather not wanting to hold back. The streets were practically baking pans that just came out of the oven, the cobblestone scorching.

Nevertheless, no stupid person would dare step outside without reason. It was if it were a game of hopping from unstable rock to rock over lava. And now, with the black cloaks law soon to be passed, those little amounts would turn into nothing. Business opportunities would drop to an all time low, yet Kid would do nothing about it. Not to mention, the increase in heat strokes, and masks "accidentally" coming off.

So what if Kid actually suspected him? To hell with that, for with a suave motion, his cape was over him again, his deft fingers making sure that his mask was secure before closing the bathroom door, grabbing his things, and making his way to the door. Coffee could wait today; the only thing he needed to rush was paying the electricity bill.

Was each day now repetitive? Had each second morph into what yesterday, the day before, the week before, and the decade before was? He couldn't release those voluminous thoughts. His thoughts had a short lapse of those intriguing topics of which entered one ear speedily and out the other with the same acceleration. It never seemed to stay in place.

All he wanted to do is release himself from his confinement.

Even as he entered the solemn café with a melancholic smile, his hands quickly fidgeted at his mask, which had suddenly become loose. It was a rare windy day in the city, the wisps of dirt and sand eagerly passing in the horizon of the desert. Perfect for a few masks to flutter away and a few heads to fall. As he greeted Blair, the young waitress who had purple hair and a slim waist hidden in confinement. He kept his hand fixated on his mortifying mask. There was no narrow view of positivity that he would entertain by playing the piano with one hand and handicapping the other.

"Mask again?" Blair asked.

He nodded, grinding his teeth. She immediately grabbed a needle and string, trying to sow down the weak points before the café was subjected to open. "How many times will I have to do this for you?"

"Until I can find a way to keep this stupid piece of plastic on my face without rubber cement or paste. I got nothin' on me when it comes to something like this." She giggled, playing with a strand of his hair as she clipped the excess string, letting it sink to the floor. With a slight adjustment, the mask seemed to fit right, the feeling of it wanting to slip off now narrowed in his taste.

"You should want to wash your face though." She sang out as she tucked away the sewing supplies in her skirt pocket before giving it a light pat.

"I do, _mother_." He said with a sarcastic tone.

"I can tell. You don't take care of yourself, Soul."

"Of course I take care of myself." His finger drew over his palm, scratching at it.

"Come on. Stop acting like that. For me, please." She cooed, fixing her bow fastened on her cloak.

He only ignored her, lifting the piano bench and pulling out a small pamphlet, wanting to practice before the crowds came in.

"I'm not talking to a wall, am I?" He only remained silent, wanting her to leave him alone.

"Soul..."

* * *

As soon as the sign was flipped to open, it atmosphere was drafted to hectic and lively. Chatter bounced off the brick walls, the sound of the chairs scratching against the wooden floors. It all seemed normal today. Another day for many rendezvous as he began to play, his ears waning away from his playing and instead trying to decipher what the young couple was discussing nearby. Chances were that he'd be a bigger pervert if he was careful enough to listen to their clamor.

"Hey. Didn't you hear? Crona died yesterday."

Soul skimmed his fingers over the keys, flying through chromatic dips and scales as he tried to listen to the conversation just a smidgen away. "From what, exactly?"

"Her own collar skewered her throat. Kid claimed that she died instantly." Blair placed down the cup she was drying, going to the other side of the counter and lacing her legs over a stool, anonymously listening to the women who were chatting with warm cups of chamomile and lavender. "The authorities claimed that the collar wasn't demagnetized."

So it seemed that everyone was talking about it. It was spreading.

Crona Gorgon was one to give comfort to Kid, and the only one who could take off her restrictions. One of the lucky ones who could escape their confinement and experience love, and the feel of yet one another's skin often. One that would mock others in perturbing with her beauty and worthwhile against others. Crona, however, did not show those terms, which made her the esteem that Kid cherished.

All of his women were fed well, bathed and pampered each day, purged to the brink of luxury. And as always, at the end of the day, like a child would with an old toy, when they went against him or did not bring him into his needed requirements, he'd throw them out, never to be heard from again. Crona was just about to float down that river, the missing women lining up as each one became hidden to the human eye.

And it always was a controversy that could never be disposed of.

"Once more, I heard she's already been replaced. Some blonde girl. She's from around here, and was taken captive three years ago on suspicion of possibly infiltrating one of the governing systems." She fixed her mask, her tone very dry. "Her father often cheated on her mother, the poor thing."

A new person? Already? It took him weeks to hunt after new prey.

"Cute. It's nice to know that he's kept up his foul attitude." An older man sauntered, slamming down his cup of black coffee. "You hear that, you blimey little scab?! Go ahead and skewer my head off for all I care!"

"You've never met the guy, and yet you mouth him off as if he's been your enemy for your whole life. You're horribly bad-tempered." His wife clamored.

"You've lived with me for a glorious thirty years! Be proud of such tyranny!"

It was getting to interesting to let go off. As on cue, he missed a note, quickly making up for the crisp mistake.

Seats were filled continuously, each conversation delving him in. He was losing his concentration quickly, as well as the monotonous attitude he had strayed earlier. More than coffee was heating up in the room. Definitely something hotter and scorching as what they were lashing out. In his predicament, absolutely nobody was listening to the music; they were entertaining him instead. Faster the his slim finger flew, dotting each black and white key, the pitch climbing.

"Didn't you hear? One of the men from those gangs across town was killed yesterday. His head was—"

"Mama! Those man's words... are scaring me!"

Note after note his fingers flew, the melodic tone playing eloquently as he listened upon their conversations. No! No longer could he listen to such rumors! He had to focus his eyes and ears on the sheet music laid prominently in front of him, as well as the tone and fashion of the notes. Though he seemed as if he played for many years, passion and energy always towered above experience, that of which he lacked by a long shot. What he did was for his financial benefit, not for the love of it. Forcing his fingers against the keys, he couldn't help but wonder; he never expected himself to be playing at such an accelerating pace in a long time with such fiery. Never did he expect that he would actually try to glue himself to the piano like today.

This was definitely something different. Maybe it could be the combination of the piano and the lambasting society combining into the line between purgatory and hell, maybe it was him just hallucinating. But this out look was definitely a potential he need thought he possessed, and that this was some sort of omen. He was playing as if tomorrow wasn't going to show up through his dusty curtains. This was definitely a sign, dragging him down, as well as his playing. He was being uncool—very uncool, acting all sad and depressed.

He ended the piece a page too earlier, that of which he'd mentally slap himself late for. Hopefully, most of the people here were oblivious to music, those who may have never learned in-depth. Playing such a light piece with such a frightening emotion would redefine the music and change it in a way that would lure customers away. He just needed a break, and maybe those allusive cement blocks of doubts in his mind could be lost within another train of thoughts.

Getting up, he strolled over to the bar counter, finding that Blair was chatting quietly and giggling like a five-year old to another man's pun. The busty woman suddenly made contact with Soul's red eyes, only to grin. "Break time?"

He nodded, propping himself in the red leather stool, his forehead kissing the marble. The man immediately stood up, waving to Blair, who was pouring a mug of freshly brewed coffee. Smiling, she placed the cup next to him, along with a slice of carrot cake, only to have him slide both plates to the side, groaning. She frowned in content, wanting him to eat. He was like her family, especially since she lived alone, and liked his hospitality, let alone, him. She cared too much about him, yet in retrospect, she was seemingly like a stalker.

"C'mon. Eat, please! You need something in your stomach before you start playing again! You'll need energy to play!" She clapped her hands together, only to have him glare at her.

"I'm not hungry."

"Please..."

"And, no thank you."

"What? Stop being such a lemon, Soul. What's your problem? Is it me?"

"No, it has nothing to do with you."

"Then, what?"

"I don't care, really. He's mediocre and his way of life sucks."

"With who, exactly? Who are you talking about?"

"High and mighty who sits a top in his childish castle." He pointed out the window, towards the looming structure.

"Well, we can't help it." She took a sip of the coffee she offered him, only to place it aside the worn out coffee machine. "It's nothing we can tamper with. We don't have the right to march in there, and resort to violence just to rid of one person and his ideals. There are still other people who'll succeed him, and follow him. There are challenges."

"I never said anything about violence, did I? And besides, you're working with..."

"Yeah. But one way or another, I might end up dead. Though I did incorporate myself with that group in context to take hold and stop him, from now on, I have no intent of progressing with them. I don't want to end up dying for foolhardy reasons. Besides, even after we overthrow Kid, what'll be left for us to do? Resent to making the city, maybe the world ours? Was the world drowned in his chaos; overriding him would only leave us with a heavier burden?" She placed a gentle hand on his head, yawning.

"As much as I would love to rewrite the laws of which were forced on us for the better, I worry about what'll happen even before we get to the point, even afterwards. What will happen to us after? Maybe the only way to release us from these handicaps is through Kid. I can't stomach how many possibilities there are when we try and tackle that topic; it's becoming ridiculous now that I think about it."

"You're just saying though, that you like this set up. Nobody likes it, and knowing you, you wouldn't come to accept it, no matter what the risks you'd need to take. You told me that you would go no matter what the result." She only glared at him, hands curled on her hips. He smirked back.

"Whatever, I'm getting lost again in these cryptic thoughts. Fine, if it makes him and you happy, I'll accept his bull. Knowingly enough, I'll still break some rules in the process."

Blair immediately smiled. He was definitely different from earlier.

"Soul."

He only nodded, heading back to the piano.

* * *

He was exhausted.

It was another end of the day at the barista, playing the piano for the rest of the time, and hoping that his career would end soon. Yet it was another hopeless day, the tips only rolling in about some coins. It seemed the public now a days had no taste for music, and they were still throttled in their little rendezvous and dark clamors. Not that anyone was going to notice him.

From all the stress, he was definitely going to burn his dinner tonight. He wasn't going to bug Blair to sneak him some dinner after denying food from her earlier.

It was simple. Play music for crowds, and play what they recommend or ask. It's no other than a daily routine. Yet even as he tucked away his music under the chair signaling the end of the shift, he couldn't help but sigh. Walking over to the counter for the second time, he greeted Blair, taking a seat on one of the chairs.

"Hey." The busty woman's voice chimed as he tucked the chair under the seat. "I'd say another performance at its finest."

"No," He avoided her compliment. "What do you want? I've got five minutes before I leave for the day."

"What's with you, being like you've sucked on citrus?" She asked in a sickly tone. "You're terrible. You were so content earlier."

He ignored her, only to make her churn out whatever else she could fit within five minutes. He was doing too many favors today.

"Anyways, I received a message from Wes while I was on my break. They're burying your parents on the thirtieth next week, and he expects you to give the eulogy." His expression immediately changed from grotesque to alert, making Blair grin in success.

Wes, Wes, Wes, that sarcastic, older, taller, advantaged, successful, sly, stupid prick! Did he forget, verbatim? Stupid? Maybe he'd love him more if he wasn't so-

"How did you get his number?" He asked calmly.

That bastard.

"Connections, dear."

As if hearing Wes this and that had the same boring momentum as Schrödinger's Cat. And that time when Wes gave the widest, foolhardy smirk at him as he played the violin for their grandparents, topping Soul's piano medley, a ballad. Smart, horrible, sporadic, little-

"What happened to Wes?" He scoffed. "He seemed ecstatic about doing it."

"I don't know, but he says that he has something he needs to do that day, and it's urgent." She replied.

Liar.

"Look, please. I know you're all depressed and stolid, and what not..."

"I'm not depressed. I've just lost some steam, that's all."

"...fine. Or you just plain tired for all I care. But come on, this is your family you're pushing away. Can't you give it a little more thought?"

"Nope."

"You're terrible."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Sicko."

"Thank you. How's your, 'plans'?"

"Crippling. We lost two guys last week." A finger drew across her covered neck, and a grueling sound erupted from her throat. "Both suffered the guillotine."

"What about that other society, the Kishin?"

"I don't know. They've stopped abducting residents and they haven't shown their faces in a while. My suspicions are being driven to an all time high..."

"Well, what about the _N_ group running around?" They were notorious dwellers that based themselves in different locations of the city. Known for luring young people and guards away, they've been considered as people who possibly may have a belief towards voodoo and witch craft.

"They're still working undercover, yet they got ratted out trying to infiltrate Kid's place. I'm working with another group by the industrial. Around there, not too shabby. Pretty resourceful when you look at it, even if its all scrap metal and emptiness."

"And what you've heard about Kid?"

"Same old things."

"Oh, really?" He said with such sarcasm. "He lacks creativity when it comes to his executions. He should stick to praising his folded toilet paper." She chuckled at the thought of the only chance of seeing a supreme ruled actually bending on his knees for something so ridiculous. Reality caught up with her, only to drive her back to the reason she even stumbled into this run down shop.

"Darling, don't change the topics on me. I thought you were over this stuff hours ago!"

"That two percent though."

"What, 'two percent'?"

"Everything it says. Two percent. Not a perfect one hundred. Ninety-eight percent adequacy."

"You know that I'm not one for the phrase, 'beating around the bush'. Now tell me, will-"

"That's still a big fat no."

"Why, you... you're pissing me off. If you do it, I'll pay you five hundred dollars. I'll even pay your rent! Treat you to dinner!"

"So now you're bribing me? I'm not convinced when you bring up that sultry currency." She frowned.

"Please!"

"No."

"Yes. Please."

"Nope. My final answer."

"Oh no, it is not!"

"What?"

"It is not, you shalt."

"No, I won't. End of discussion."

Eyes. Again. Damn. She brought out the big guns.

"Pretty, please?"

"..."

Crap, it was sinking like quicksand.

"..."

"...Fine."

She let out a small squeal. "What made you change your mind?"

"I don't know. As this might be a small chance to twist tail Wes with this one. I'll have something of which he'll have to regret. But otherwise, it's just to shut you up."

"Thank you, though!" She chimed. "I really do owe you for—"

"Why are you so concerned over my family's personal problems? You have no relation towards us. We're only friends, and I believe that I had no intention of bringing you into my family issues."

More over, why was she ecstatic about him giving a eulogy?!

"It doesn't always have to go by playground rules, silly."

"Those aren't playground rules. It's called, common sense."

And she was the smart one talking earlier!

"Aw. Fine, this one's yours. But as your last favor, wait for me outside?" She cooed, squeezing him tightly. He was possibly going to die from suffocation, just one day, from her hugs. Or maybe it was just the strong wisps of coffee, hold the sugar and cream.

"..fine. Only this once."

* * *

It was still bothering him; his fingers made contact with the doorknob, and he could feel his hand begin to shake nervously, as if he were to be shot the minute he stepped outside. It was bugging him, like a bad itch. His equilibrium suddenly seemed off.

_Mask_? _L-Loose_?

He let out a sigh, opening the door. No bullets. No, nothing. It seemed safe enough. Nothing psychologically inaccurate.

Can't be. He walked out leisurely, the wind picking up, his eyes shutting. 'The mask was still on. The mask was still on,' he prayed.

His hands came to his face. Ma-

No mask?!

It must have... blew off. Or fell off. Without him noticing. Idiotically.

He should have never trusted Blair to sew it back on for him! And surprisingly, his collar wasn't going off. How was he so calm?! Why wasn't he gone yet!?

How was he going to get home without practically loosing his head?

No. That was a dumb question. Instead of way to get home without death, he had to suspect when he was going to die.

He could always ask Blair to stitch it up again, yet it was probably too late to do so; she may have already left through the back door; she hadn't come out to meet him, anyways. She probably had business that popped up oh so suddenly. Sadly, he didn't even know where she could be by now, or anyone that would use to their time to help a situation that seemed traumatizing as having their mask fall and yet have their head still on, without any signs of bloodshed. He was helpless if someone were to find out. Scoping the area around him, he felt a wave of relief tend to some of his dry thoughts.

Thank goodness the area was distant and not as populated at the moment. Sensing that there may be some others who may step out at a critical moment despite calculations, he made sure to cover his face with the cloak, hoping that he was covering his enough not to be seen and yet not to be suspected. Now all he needed to do was nothing but get home, and settle his woes there.

Who knew? Maybe his head would fall off now, in the next rapidly approaching seconds, a fraudulent day or even just a couple of hours would be even more climatic and nail-biting...

"Hey. You okay there?"

He nearly froze at the anonymous voice behind him. It was definitely no one he knew; he didn't recognize the feminine voice that had called him out. Instead, he only began to walk forward, as if he had never heard anything to begin with.

Pray, pray, pray that it wasn't someone from Kid's facilities...

"Hey! Don't ignore me. It's rude to walk off when someone's asking you a question." She responded.

It was practically crude as it was to ignore her, yet only answering her would collect more suspicion, as well the body language and tension that was encasing him. Damn! Out of all times, he had to act like an uncool weakling in front of someone whom he didn't know whatsoever. A better choice was to have made a run for-

"I'm fine." He answered collectively. Though it was out of the blue and not thoroughly thought out, he was a bit satisfied with how he reacted.

"You don't look to be, though."

"..." His mouth was going dry. What could he succumb to now!?

"Turn around." She commanded. "If you're not going to talk, then turn around."

He wanted to resist her, yet it seemed futile with the tone of voice. Was she actually serious in wanting to see his face just because he wouldn't respond to his damn question? As a matter of fact, he should have responded in the first place so that he wouldn't be in this mess!

"Then come here and show your face then, lazy." Crossed the border. Instincts were terrible things. He really had crossed the borderline right then and there...

"Might as well. But I called you out, so you should be facing me. In fact, you should have responded back in the first place."

"Well, get this. I'm too lazy to comply."

"It's not so hard to turn around."

"It's not so hard to be stubborn either." It was then she pulled down the good of his cloak, only revealing his white jagged hair. Stricken by her daring action, he immediately turned around, no other barrier between her seeing his face. It was only then that he realized that his boat wasn't empty. His ruby eyes widened in shock.

A girl. Yes. Only this one was without a mask, and she seemed dressed like him. Her sandy blonde pig tails and her bold yet lustrous green were the only things he could take into account. Not to mention, her porcelain skin, which looked like a doll's. She had her own handicap, and yet she didn't seem anywhere near death.

Was her collar malfunctioning too...?

He really needed time to analyze this. Why, all day it had been, that'd he'd be finding himself wanting to lose his head. And instead, he comes out alive, only to find this girl who seems as if she managed to fool an audience by sewing her head back on, no traces of any evidence prominent aftermath. All in all, she should have been dead by now. He was _damned_.

Out of shock, he sprinted from the scene, hoping to dig a hole and hide. Running into the first place he could cower, he searched his pocket for his cell phone. He froze, the thought hitting him like a freight train. It's not there. He must have dropped it or left it at the shop. But that was the least of his problems.

Maybe it was just fraudulent hallucinations. It had to be a dream. It just had to be. That was, until she hit him over the head with a random spine of a book. She found him.

"Wha...?" He cringed as he held his temples, curled up on the cobblestone. Consciousness was slipping from his fingers as she tucked the book away. She only crouched down to where he curled up, staring doe-eyed and planting the sarcasm. "Oh dear," She said with such obliviousness in her voice. His eyes closed shut.

"I didn't know that this book was... hardcover."


End file.
